Chapter 332 late, unedited and all that

This one's a doozy. I literally wrote like 5k words, but cut out 800 for ch 333. I might take more from this ch and move it to 333, because holy shit 4200 words is too much.

And that's pre edit. Usually it gets longer when I add in flavour and stuff.

k. it's 9:20 pm and i need to eat dinner now, so bye!

Edit: 9:55pm and i just got home. The second I stepped away from this ch, i realized i need to rewrite it. First as Rain's PoV and the gifts, then Dastan's PoV for the fights. As it stands, I do neither event justice, so I think I need to fix that. I'll do that tomorrow, as rewrites are easier than new chapters.

K. that's all. Sorry.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/15rEfd1XGX6ICYQa-RZ7p-Gi_SnTPw0ZnaaFsk27F7JM/edit?usp=sharing

Only a single step behind the boss, Dastan left the other talents of the Empire waiting by the docks and guided his horse onto the floating platform with a surge of pride. This was Falling Rain’s stage and he deserved to be the focus of attention. Civility and decorum meant nothing in the face of martial might and the boss would prove his strength soon enough. While there was a time when Dastan dreamt of a chance like this for himself, those dreams were long dead, a casualty of war and time. Now, he was Oath-sworn, his life dedicated to serving the boss and Dastan intended to play his part well. Holding the boss’s banner high, he resisted the urge to give it a flourish and let the standard speak for itself, nervously eyeing the juvenile cloud chaser hare perched on the crossbeam. The long-eared creature had ascended the banner pole of its own volition, and the boss barely spared it a glance before telling Dastan to leave it be. He only hoped little Blackjack wouldn’t shit on his head or misbehave in some other way, not here in front of all of Nan Ping.

At least now they could claim to ride under the banner of a hare rather than a rabbit. While not obvious at first glance, it made a world of difference to the warriors of the Empire, with one being king of the skies and the other food for the cooking pot.

After dismounting to bow alongside the rest of the retinue, Dastan handed his horse and standard off to another soldier and stood at full attention, studying he Legate out the corner of his eye. His first time meeting an Imperial Scion, Dastan wasn’t too impressed. Seated beneath a silken canopy, surrounded by four bodyguards and attended to by his seneschal, the Legate ruined an otherwise imposing sight with his youthful good looks. From a distance, Dastan had thought the Legate’s armour identical to that worn by the Royal Guardians, gold-plated metal armour over red silk robes, but now Dastan noticed it was anything but. Like the hare and the rabbit, the differences were subtle, but significant. Where the Royal Guardians wore scale armour and plain robes, the Legate wore sturdy plate and an embroidered robe that almost shimmered with power. The helmets too, with the Royal Guardians’ helmets being plain and rounded while the Legate’s helmet sat on a stand to display it’s winged sides and red plumage, a long, red plait of fine hair, though from what creature Dastan couldn’t say. Then there were the adornments, with the Royal Guardians sporting lions emblazoned on their spaulders and belts, while the Legate displayed dragons and barely perceptible inscriptions etched across the metal surface. Were he a betting man, Dastan would wager every gold coin in his possession that the Legate was dressed from head to toe in Runic Armour, including his helmet, robes, breastplate, spaulders, gloves, boots, greaves, and probably codpiece too. Hell, Dastan wouldn’t be surprised if the roaring dragon on the Legate’s belt were another Runic item, something offensive in nature perhaps.

Such extravagance could only be realized by a member of the Imperial Clan, selfishly hoarding their secrets and wealth for untold millennia. Then again, only an advanced Martial Warrior with large reserves of Chi could afford to wield so many Runic items into battle, lest they be left with no Chi for basic applications like Reinforcement or Honing. Then again, Dastan doubted the Legate would be doing much fighting when it came down to it, more likely to hide behind the armies of the outer provinces before beating a hasty retreat back to the East.

The only thing worse than a self-serving official was an Imperial clansman, holding their heads high like they were better than the rest of humanity just because of the circumstances of their birth. Even the Imperial family name was pretentious, Shen written Divine, pretending to be more than what they were. Then there was the Legate’s name, Shen Zhenwu. Divine True Warrior, how grandiose! He’d probably never fought a day in his life, not against an opponent truly trying to take his life.

There was just something about the Legate which Dastan found irritating, the least of which was the man’s smarmy, smug smile. His whole speech just stank of deception and half-truths, calling the ‘loyal’ citizens of the Empire to unite against the Defiled threat. Dastan almost fell for it too, recognizing his emotions were in being manipulated in some arcane manner. Another Imperial trick no doubt, one which had most of the retinue burning with fervour. Aside from Dastan, only the boss, Sahb, Ulfsaar, Neera, and Wang Bao seemed unaffected, which was interesting to say the least. Even the Sentinel bodyguards Jochi and Argat were moved by the Legate’s words, which meant Experts were just as susceptible as everyone else. For lack of a better option, Dastan attributed their resilience to their Natal Souls, protecting them from the Legate’s Oration in some strange way, and mentally thanked the oddly-proportioned and mentally deficient imp taking residence in his Natal Palace.

Truly a wondrous technique, and after months of careful observation, Dastan could finally say Vichear was overreacting. The boss wasn’t crazy and the Natal Soul wasn’t plotting to overthrow anyone. Everything was fine...

The Legate’s speech wouldn’t hold water for long, people would soon realize it was all a crock of horse shit. It was obvious the East intended to let the outer provinces face the Defiled hordes alone, gauging the chances for victory before committing Eastern forces to the fray. Why else would they send such a young Legate to represent their interests, accompanied by a small army of perhaps ten-thousand? To that end, Dastan thought the whole Conference was a farce, a way for the Legate to bilk the three provinces out of their wealth before absconding with his gifts. Marshal Yuzhen had the right idea, gifting much-needed resources to the war effort and appeasing the Legate with a worthless painting, but even then, all this fawning left a bitter taste in Dastan’s mouth.

No matter. Falling Rain would show the provinces how a true hero should behave.

It took another ten minutes for the remaining talents to arrive, making their way on stage together in a show of ‘solidarity’. Unfortunately for them, the had boss planted himself directly in front of the Legate, so the other youths were immediately forced to separate, with the Southerners grouping on the left and the Central youths on the right. Hmph. Eight youths but only six hundred total soldiers, since the two women held no rank and were only accompanied by a pair of guards each. Split evenly on both sides, it made the boss’s half-strength retinue look all that much larger. Imagine if the boss had brought a full complement of a thousand soldiers, he’d make the other young talents look like inconsequential underachievers, privileged youths who likely came by their appointments through currying favour and bribery.

Dismissive of the boss’s so-called peers, Dastan ignored them as they presented their gifts first, perhaps as a silent reprimand towards the boss for climbing on stage without waiting. No matter, their gifts were petty and insignificant, trinkets and valuables of little to no consequence. Dastan was more impressed by how sturdy the floating platform was, holding more than two-thousand soldiers and royal guardsmen as well as several tonnes of Guardian Turtle without collapsing.

When it was finally the boss’s turn to present his gift, he motioned for Dastan and Sahb to follow behind. Sad to think how a pair of traitors turned slaves were the boss’s most presentable soldiers, but such was life. Stopping short of the Legate’s dais yet closer than any of the others dared to approach, the boss bowed and formerly greeted the Legate while Dastan and Sahb did the same. “Imperial Servant Falling Rain greets Imperial Legate.”

Gesturing for the Crier to remain silent, the Legate spoke in a conversational tone. “Rise and disperse with formalities a moment, though I fear I can’t offer you a seat this time.” Smiling as he studied Dastan and Sahb, the Legate quirked an eyebrow at the boss. “You’ve... diminished since we last met. Troubles?”

Visibly confused at first, the boss nodded in comprehension as the Legate Sent him an explanation, leaving Dastan and Sahb entirely in the dark. Shrugging, the boss replied, “Oh. I got tired of the mountain view. Felt like I needed a change, but haven’t decided what yet.”

“A costly change just for new scenery.”

“Sometimes, taking a step back allows you to see the big picture.” Titling his head, the boss asked, “Can you see everything in there?”

Tilting his head back, the Legate smirked and asked, “Why do you ask? Have you something to hide?”

“Well, sometimes I like to conjure up a few women and -”

“Stop.” Still smiling, the Legate shook his head. “Oh you are a refreshing breath of fresh air.” Infusing his voice with Chi, he Spoke for all to hear. “Warrant Officer Falling Rain and Attendant to the Divine Turtle, show us what gift you have prepared.”

This single sentence raised the boss’s status above his peers as the entire city audibly gasped and applauded. This was the first time the Legate personally addressed any of the others by name or rank. Even the Marshals had been referred to as ‘Imperial Servant’, which showed just how much the Legate valued Falling Rain. Taking this great honour in stride, the boss bowed and replied, “This humble servant has prepared several gifts for the occasion, most of which are geared towards the future of the Empire.” The Crier repeated his words for the rest of Nan Ping to hear, which was a little disorienting, like hearing an echo in reverse. Putting it out of his mind, Dastan handed the chest over to the Legate’s guards.

After opening the chest, the Legate’s confusion was plain to see, but the boss remained calm and composed, standing in patient silence while the Legate perused its contents. Removing the leather-bound book sitting on top, he opened it and ran his fingers over the paper with an intrigued look. “This paper... how it’s thinner and lighter than any I’ve ever come across...”

“A new process pieced together by a number of brilliant minds in the North.” Holding his head up high, he explained, “Currently, paper is made from dried and pressed reeds, which requires a lengthy and costly process to create. The other options for writing are silk, parchment made from animal skins, and stone or wooden slips, none of which are any cheaper or less intensive to make. The paper in that book is made from tree bark, old linen rags, and hemp waste. Using a water powered mill, we can make hundreds of sheets in a single day at minimal cost, and we’re hoping to improve that number to thousands. At the moment, the estimated expense for creating one sheet of paper measuring one square meter is one copper, but we’re working on lowering that by improving efficiency in the development process.” Smiling, Rain added, “The details of the paper-making process are all laid out on the first few pages of the book in your hands, and this one is willing to share it with anyone who asks.”

“Giving away ideas are we? And here I thought you were handing over a lucrative business industry.”

The Legate’s good natured jest had an edge to it and the boss bowed in response. “If that is the Legate’s desire, then this one is willing to comply.”

Playing along, the Legate asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Why then, do you intend to give away such a valuable discovery?”

“For the betterment of the Empire.” Still bowing, the boss presented the image of a humble patriot and it suited him will. “At the current cost of paper, whoever holds this new method will be free to set their price a mere pittance lower than their competitors and earn a vast fortune before the process is uncovered, but such profits are negligible compared to the benefits gained from the widespread distribution of cheap paper.”

“How so?”

Raising his head, the boss stood tall and nodded. “Literacy is the foundation upon which all learning is built, and education is tied to economy. With cheap and affordable paper, the barrier to literacy will drop to negligible values allowing anyone to learn how to read, write, and do basic arithmetic for a mere pittance, which will have far reaching effects throughout the Empire. Well-educated workers can perform tasks more efficiently, find new ways to improve profits, and become a new market for literary pursuits such as poetry or pleasure reading.”

This was why Dastan rarely felt oppressed by his slave’s Oath. Even if he were a free man, he wouldn’t mind devoting his life to service under Falling Rain, a man who sought to better the world around him. The boss’s passion could be seen by all as he argued his cause. “A higher literacy rate also allows us to tap into a vast, untouched resource, the collective knowledge of the Empire’s working class. Generation after generation, they pass down their knowledge from father to son, mother to daughter, but that is where it ends. Who knows how much knowledge we've lost to time and tragedy? With improved literacy, it opens up the possibility for an exchange of ideas and theories, or a discourse on techniques and stratagem. While it may not seem like much to you or I, a farmer learning how to improve his yield of crops or a fisherman how to read the weather could change their lives for the better. Losing tens of thousands of gold in profit to improve the lives of commoners across the Empire, this one sees it as a small price to pay for progress.”

Idly flipping through the book, the Legate seemed less than enthused, but still asked, “What of the rest of it? There are several other items inside the chest and much more detailed in the book.”

“Paper is but one part of the gift.” The boss signalled for Sahb to step forward and pointed at his buckled pack. “This is a strap buckle which can be tightened and loosened with one hand.” Sahb demonstrated it once while the boss rummaged through the sack and pulled out a number of miscellaneous items. “This is a caliper, you use it to quickly measure the distance between two points on a flat surface, which among other things allows for more accurate map drawing. This is scented soap made primarily from vegetable oil, which is less harsh on the skin and leaves laundry smelling fresh. This is a bar of cast iron, which is cheaper to produce than traditionally smelted iron, needing no refining or hammering. The trade off is a more brittle end-product, but for items like pans, pots, cutlery, and the like, there is no noticeable difference aside from spending only a fifth of the effort pre-forging. It could also be suitable for reinforcing large buildings like walls and gates, but that requires more testing. The book contains step by step instructions to create all of these, and the wagons contain examples of our work for the Legate to inspect. This one hopes the Empire can make use of them, improve on them, and usher in a new age of prosperity for all.”

Leaving the items in Sahb’s hands, the boss turned back to the Legate. “There’s more things detailed in the book which I couldn’t bring with me, like a cradle-scythe, a counterweight catapult, a water-powered clock, and others. There’s theoretical plans too, items we’ve yet to work out all the details of, and I invite the great minds of the Empire to work together in solving them.” Eyeing the Crier, the boss waited until the Legate ordered the man to silence before speaking again, his voice lowered to a whisper. “As for personal profits, there’s a number of extra pages in Imperial Legate’s copy which will not be shared with anyone else. Look them over and I’m sure you’ll find it of interest, especially the sections detailing paper money and money lending, both extremely lucrative concepts.”

Standing in silence as the Legate read through the book, Dastan noted the carefully concealed excitement in his eyes. While recording the boss’s words, Dastan could barely keep his arms from trembling, so shocked by what he was hearing. First introduce paper currency whose value was backed by gold and silver, then once the concept becomes common place, switch to paper currency without any intrinsic value besides that which the Emperor gave it. It was brilliant, and while there were a number of obvious pitfalls and potential problems, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be solved.

Feigning disinterest, the Legate passed the book to his Seneschal and gestured for his guards to take everything away. “Is that all?” he asked, sounding ever so slightly disappointed. While many would be excited to lay their hands on a copy of the boss’s book, it left the Legate with nothing to call his own.

The boss played his part perfectly, so long as one couldn’t see his poorly-hidden grin. Shrinking back as if afraid, he shook his head and frantically gestured at Dastan and Sahb, and they both ran back to the retinue and collected four leather-wrapped items carried by four separate guards, a suggestion made by Marshal Yuzhen to better sell their lie and make it look like a last minute gift. “Certainly not,” the boss said, his words repeated by the Crier. “This one would never dream of presenting Imperial Legate with so poor a gift.” On cue, Dastan and Sahb revealed the ‘last second gift’, once again causing Nan Ping’s inhabitants to audibly gasp as one. “I present to your, four Runic shields, crafted by the newest Runic Craftsman of the North, who er... would like to remain anonymous.”

Dastan’s heart panged with grief at the thought of giving away four of twelve life-saving shields, but Marshal Yuzhen cautioned that a princely ransom would be needed to buy goodwill should the Legate find the first gift lacking. Even if he didn’t, debuting the mysterious Runic Craftsmen could only benefit the Bekhai, especially since Medical Saint Taduk need more inscription materials. Pleased by this lavish and practical gift, the Legate took some time extolling the boss’s virtues as well as thanking the Bekhai and their mysterious Runic Craftsmen, which was met with hearty cheers and applause.

Falling back in line with the boss’s retinue, Dastan proudly smirked at the other soldiers, basking in sheer satisfaction at seeing the boss beat down his opponents with his wallet and ingenuity. Twice now, the North ‘won’ in this Imperial Grand Conference, and their spirits were high. When the applause finally died down long minutes later, the Legate stood up to dismiss them. “You nine exceptional young warriors are the future of the Empire. Standing at the forefront of your peers, you have each risen to prominence in your respective provinces.” Grinning as he made eye contact with them, he added, “However, I, and many others, have but one question on our minds: which one of you can claim the title of undisputed number one talent in the Empire?”

Or not.

Undoubtedly the boss should claim the title, but if the Legate intended to have a tourney out here then the boss was sorely outnumbered. Already the other eight were eyeing the boss, hungry for the face which would come from taking him down. Unperturbed by their predatory gazes, the boss grinned and strapped on his shield, shouting, “Well why don’t we find out?”

For the third time, Nan Ping erupted into deafening applause and Dastan could swear the bay waters shook from the sound. While Nan Ping voiced their appreciation, the other eight talents silently studied one another, none of them brave enough to challenge the boss first. Sneering in obvious disdain, the boss clapped Dastan on the shoulder and Sent, “Go grab a Runic shield and warm up the crowd. Challenge whoever you want, don’t worry about winning or losing. It’s time the world learned who you are.”

Overcome with gratitude, Dastan almost fell to his knees and wept, but doing so would bring shame to the boss. Hiding behind Pran and Saluk’s wide frames, he wiped his eyes and equipped the last remaining Runic Shield they’d brought, making it seem like they’d given the Legate almost everything they had. That was the boss’s idea and Marshal Yuzhen had wholeheartedly approved.

By unspoken agreement, each retinue retreated in a different direction, which opened up a space in the middle of the platform and left the Legate an unobstructed view. Nan Ping fell to a hush as Dastan stood in centre stage and committed this moment to memory, where millions of eyes waited with bated breath to see his next move. Drawing his axe, he pointed it towards the heavens and shouted, “This one is Dastan Zhandos, Khishig of the Bekhai and Expert of the Empire. Twenty-three years old.” Pointing at the closest member of the Hwarang, he grinned and added, “This one would seek your guidance.”

The painted fop grimaced in anger, annoyed he’d been chosen to fight a subordinate instead of the boss. How much angrier would he be if he knew Dastan were a slave? As his foe put on his feathered helmet, it reminded reminded Dastan of the ‘feathered big bro’ the boss dispatched on his second day in Nan Ping, though this one was most certainly a better duellist. Brandishing his dual hammers, he stepped up and introduced himself. “Warrant Officer Third Grade Mitsue Hideo.”

Shit.

Blanching at the name, Dastan filled in the rest for himself. Mitsue Hideo, great nephew and Disciple of the Obsidian Shadow Mitsue Juichi. Only twenty-four-years old, he was rumoured to have comprehended the essence of his Mentor’s Talent, the Mountain Collapsing Stomp. Supposedly a combination of Resonance, Amplification, Honing, and Stability, for Hideo to not only use all four skills in tandem and project it from his body was a testament to his prowess. A formidable opponent especially on this floating stage, where Hideo could easily destroy multiple sections of the platform with but a single step. His twin hammers where mocked for being inelegant and unrefined, but the sheer power behind them was nothing to laugh at.

This time, Dastan had truly kicked and iron board. Why couldn’t it have been someone of no importance, some fool who chanced his way into the Hwarang after two prominent members aged out?

While the Crier went over the rules, Dastan closed his eyes and reached for Balance, stepping into his Natal Palace to make plans with his Natal Soul. After the large-headed and small-bodied caricature finished his greetings, Dastan fixed him with a serious glare. “I need you to Reinforce and Lighten for all you’re worth. Speed and power will be key to defeating him. One clean hit from his mace and we’re done, you understand?”

Grinning like a fool, the Natal Soul nodded and skipped about, eager to finally put it’s skills to the test. Still, despite it’s appearance, the Natal Soul was an incredible boost to Dastan’s prowess, allowing him to focus on other uses of his Chi. Since this was merely a spar, there’d be no need to Hone, so Dastan only had to concentrate on Amplification and Deflection, two skills which relied solely on timing. No problem. He could do this. He could win. He was Dastan Zhandos, and he’d sparred with the best in the north of months now. Hideo was merely another Zian, another Song, another Fung.

And hopefully not a Sumila.

Opening his eyes, Dastan felt the tension melt away from his body. How could there possibly be two Sumila’s in this world? When the Crier shouted, “Begin!” Dastan smiled and side-stepped his opponent’s charge, taking the brunt of the assault on the wondrous Runic shield. While the runes did nothing to dampened the Amplified blow, it stopped any Reverberations from passing through the Shield, which was more than enough for Dastan. Light on his feet, he danced around his opponent like a bird flitting about a bull, his mind calm and body loose. An apt comparison, since his opponent focused primarily on the Bull Forms, his twin maces smashing about like horns as he trampled across the stage, leaving splinted wood and spraying water in his wake. In contrast, Dastan only needed Rising Steps from the Oriole Forms to avoid him, dodging blows whenever he could and blocking with his Runic shield when he couldn’t.

After long minutes of dancing about, he finally spotted an opening, a disruption in his opponent’s rhythm caused by fatigue. Circling around, he made his first attack of the match, slipping his axe through his opponent’s defence and lightly tapping his neck, leaving a thin, barely perceptible line of blood. Still smiling, Dastan reversed his grip and clasped his hands. “Thank you for letting me win.”

There was a single second of silence which stretched out into an eternity, and Dastan revelled in his victory, taking in Mitsue Hideo’s shocked expression, the boss’s proud smile, and the Legate’s appreciative nod before Nan Ping erupted into thunderous applause, the loudest ovation of the day.

Father, Mother, I, your son, have brought honour to the Zhandos name.